


turn off the lights (when you leave)

by Toucanna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Laundromat AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toucanna/pseuds/Toucanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers. Two shitty nights. One laundromat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turn off the lights (when you leave)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story in my head for awhile. I am definitely planning on continuing it, but updates may be slow. I don't have a lot of free time as a junior in high school. I'm also planning to make this into a script at some point, not for Clarke and Lexa, but different characters. However, I thought the plot line fit them quite nicely.
> 
> Title credit to Two of Us on the Run by Lucius (great song)
> 
> Feel free to comment, critique, etc... I appreciate all of it! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Lexa has always walked past the laundromat at exactly 7:00 pm every Monday through Friday on her way from work. 

 

It is 3 blocks away from her apartment building and 28 blocks away from her law firm. A long walk that Lexa thoroughly looks forward to every Monday through Friday.  

 

(She often prides herself on punctuality for small things such as being at work at 7:55 on the dot and going for exactly 60 minute long runs that are always 10 miles long)

 

This Tuesday, however, Lexa finds her weary frame in front of the flickering laundromat sign at about 12:04 am. She is holding a bag of clothes in her right hand and is pushing the door open with the other. Her body is clad in a rumpled work clothes, her shirt untucked and her top button undone. Her face is streaked with dried tears and has a look of exasperation stuck on it that doesn't seem to be budging anytime soon.

 

Lexa did not expect her night to go this way. She did not expect to be at the laundromat twice in one day. Nor did she expect to walk in on her girlfriend fucking another girl when she arrived home from work at 7:10 pm. 

 

As she sits on the bench in the laundromat with her face in the bag of clothes that lay on her lap she contemplates how absolutely idiotic Costia is. Lexa is always at home around that time. Did Costia think that this time would be any different? She could have at least had the courtesy to fuck another girl when she knew Lexa was not going to be home. Perhaps she wanted Lexa to find out in the cruelest way possible? 

 

She cannot comprehend such horrid logic.

 

In fact, it’s her job to avoid such horrid logic.

 

She can’t even fathom why Costia would do this. Has their relationship of 2 years meant nothing to her? 

 

_ “You’re just so focused on work, Lex. You’ve been so distant lately. Where’d you go?”  _

 

Lexa replays Costia’s words through her head over and over again. She had said them long after the other girl had scampered out of the apartment, embarrassment and shame written on her face. Lexa recognized the girl too, from a couple of Costia’s poetry nights where she had been forced to attend. 

 

(Another thing Lexa prides herself on is that she never forgets a face). 

 

Where does she go? Well, she goes to work. She goes to provide for the life she and Costia have built up together. 

 

Where she does not go is to pick up other women. 

 

Where she does not go is out of her way to sabotage her relationship.

 

That, apparently, is where Costia goes.

 

She and Costia have never been in the same place as far as their relationship. 

 

They argued for two hours as Lexa began packing her clothes into a laundry bag. 

 

There are a lot of things Lexa can take. For example, getting yelled at for a copying mistake one of her interns makes or dealing with the idiot partners at her firm. Lexa, however, will not take getting cheated on. 

 

Lexa Woods may be focused on work and distant, but she is not a fucking doormat. 

 

Costia eventually gave up trying to argue with Lexa who had remained passive throughout the entire “argument,” only a few tears falling down her cheeks when she had initially walked in on the situation. Before she left the apartment with the door closing in a soft click behind her, Costia uttered those words that still have her logical left sided brain spinning in confusion.

 

_ “Where’d you go, Lex? Where did you go?” _

 

She groans loudly into her bag of laundry. 

 

Her bag of clean laundry, she might add, but she wants to wash her clothes anyway after the way her evening has been stained. 

 

They are the remnants of her relationship. She feels dirty and disgusting. They must be cleansed. 

 

In the bag, there is a sweater Costia got her for an Ugly Sweater Party. Lexa initially refused to go. It is green with the word “FRUITCAKE” pasted across the chest. Lexa initially refused to wear it.  Costia always has had a way of changing Lexa’s mind. Whether it be through soft kisses, light teasing, or begging, she always gave in. The sweater got a lot of laughs at the party. 

 

Lexa Woods stopped hating parties and sweaters for Costia.

 

Now, she can hate them again. 

 

In a way, that is one good thing that came out of this whole ordeal. 

 

Still, everything must be cleansed. 

 

Lexa is so into her “everything must be cleansed” ritual she is not aware of the bell ringing as another figure wanders into the laundromat. She keeps her eyes trained carefully on the bag in her lap, going through a mental list of the items it contains. 

 

There is a plop as a person sits next to her on the bench. 

 

“I think if you keep staring at that bag it might catch on fire,” says a female voice to her right. It is a nice voice, Lexa thinks. It is a tired and scratchy voice that sounds weary after a long day, but a nice voice nonetheless. 

 

She turns her head slowly to look at the source. 

 

It is not exactly who Lexa expects it to be. She is stunning, gorgeous, sexy. All these adjectives come to mind and Lexa can not even pick one that accurately describes this woman. She has blonde hair that comes to her shoulders that is all out of place and she is wearing scrubs that appear to be covered in vomit among other substances. She smells horrid. Yet all Lexa can see are the bright blue of her eyes and the bow of her lips and the curves of her figure. 

 

Lexa does not realize she has been staring that long until the woman quirks an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you want me to catch on fire?” 

 

Lexa is startled but then puts on her typical expressionless face. Tonight is not the night for this. She and Costia broke up not even two hours before. She will  not be reduced to a puddle because of a pretty girl. She barely notices how pretty this girl is, obviously.

 

“Sorry,” she grumbles and goes back to staring at her bag of laundry. Lexa can feel her eyes on her. It makes the hair on the back of her neck rise. 

 

She does not like it. 

 

A few moments of silence pass before the woman speaks again. 

 

“Are you going to wash that?”

 

Lexa glares at her. “Are you going to mind your own business?” She is now fully irritated. What nerve this woman has to even speak to her. It is passed midnight in a laundromat, does she have any common sense? Does she think that anyone in this place after 8 pm is in the mood to have a conversation? If so, she is definitely insane. 

 

The blonde squints her eyes a bit at Lexa. She does not apologize, instead she puts out her hand. 

 

“I’m Clarke.”

 

Little does Lexa know that this introduction is only the beginning of her night. 

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Doctor Clarke Griffin has already expected her night to go terribly. 

 

Having your residency in a pediatric ward and working 17 hour shifts does that to a person. Then add a salmonella outbreak in a school lunchroom that caused at least 30 vomiting children to be at the hospital to the equation and her expectations for how her night is going to go became inordinately lowered. 

 

(Clarke is covered in not one, but three children’s excretions). 

 

But don’t get her wrong she loves her job, or at least that's what she tells herself as she drudges home from the hospital and even the hobo in front of her building wrinkles his nose at her stench and attire. 

 

Yeah, she loves her job.

 

And her mother  _ especially _ loves Clarke’s job.

 

(But that issue has been put on the back burner for now).

 

On top of the hobo thinking she is nasty situation, when she has finally climbed up the four flights of stairs to her apartment and dropped the key to unlock the door twice, she finds her washing machine to be in pieces and her roommate standing next to it looking very pleased with herself.

 

“Raven, what the actual fuck.” 

 

“Clarke, you seem mad, but you shouldn't be because I have come up with a master plan for this thing to finally stop its annoying creaking. I swear it's genius,” Raven defends.

 

“Listen so I figured out there was something wonky with the drain pump motor…” she continues into a long explanation filled with long words and engineering terms that only a 26 year old working on her PhD  would know. 

 

Clarke zones out, too exhausted and frustrated to listen. 

 

About seven minutes into her washing machine observations Raven stops herself to sniff the air. 

 

“Damn Clarke, you smell like Octavia’s hotel bathroom after she partied a little too hard during Mardi Gras.”

 

“Raven I got shit on tonight. Shit on,” Clarke growls. She is beyond pissed off. Of course Raven has to do this tonight.

 

Of all nights.

 

This one.

 

“Yeah, you look like it too.”

 

“Raven, I have no clean clothes. I need to sleep. It's midnight and I have been working since 5:00 am.” Clarke pinches in between her temples. 

 

Raven smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “There's a laundromat around the block?” She claps Clarke on the shoulder. “It’s about time for you to have a real underprivileged experience, Princess. You can write about it in your memoir or something. I can see it now, ‘My life as a rich white girl doctor and the hardships I have faced when my beautiful and gorgeous roommate decides to finally fix their loud washing machine.’ ”

 

Clarke groans. “I love you, but fuck you. You're paying for a new one if you can't fix it.” She turns to walk out the door, grabbing her basket of laundry that is located next to the remains of their washing machine.

 

“C’mon Clarke, I can always fix it,” Raven calls out after her.

 

Clarke flips her off as she exits their shared apartment. 

 

“Love you too!” Clarke hears faintly as she begins to descend the stairs. 

 

Okay, yeah Clarke is privileged. Her mother is a prestigious plastic surgeon who runs one of the most sought after clinics in the United States. She doesn’t remember a time in her life when she has had to ever  worry about money. But all of that doesn’t mean she has never worked hard. She graduated college early and worked her ass off in med school. She got a great residency at Mount Sinai and only has three more years left before she can open her own practice. 

 

Then she has to deal with her mother, but once again that’s a whole other issue. 

 

Clarke Griffin briefly gets lost in her thoughts before realizing she’s right in front of the flickering laundromat sign. She experiences a brief spark of fear because she has never utilized a laundromat before and has no idea how it works. She shrugs. She figures she can ask an employee. 

 

Wait do they even have employees at laundromats?

 

Whatever, she thinks. Her night can’t get any worse, and she pushes open the doors with her shoulder, clutching her laundry basket a bit tighter. 

 

What Clarke Griffin does expect to be in the laundromat is multiple washing machines.

 

What Clarke Griffin does not expect to be in the laundromat is the most absolutely stunning girl she has ever seen to be sitting on a bench staring intensely at a bag of laundry. 

 

What Clarke Griffin does not do is mind her own business… ever.

 

What Clarke Griffin’s gay ass does do is flirt with pretty girls. 

 

She sits next to the pretty girl and opens her mouth.

 

“I think if you keep staring at that bag it might catch on fire.”

  
And just like that her night has become infinitely better. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can come talk to me at my 100 blog raccooneyedcommander.tumblr.com
> 
> Also by "gay ass" I mean "hella bisexual"


End file.
